Night on the porch. Real darkness. The rain tries out some rhythms then shakes its head: “Take five!” The frogs advertise in the fields for all they’re worth. I’m not doing much. Vacation. There’s a blanket, a chair, the vague dark breath of the sea. I want to be composing, too: what’s my worth? Crack … More Fear of Missing Out

Some days, some months — let’s be honest, probably some years — my pants don’t fit. This is supposed to matter to me, and it does. In the drowsing noon, I was sitting outside and I asked the douglas fir next door about this. As usual, ki said nothing. Well, I thought, you get rounder each year! … More On Bodies